Incomplete (21 page)

“
Here.” I put my palm against my heart.

Joe looks up, his brows lowering. “That’s going to hurt like a bitch there.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

He waves his hand around, saying briskly, “Remove your shirt. Assume the position.”

My hands pause on the bottom of my red Henley shirt. “Dude.”

Joe laughs, causing Ben to frown at him when he enters the room. “What’s so funny?”

“Your face.”

“Not as funny as the size of your package,” Ben throws back, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.

“Watch it, little brother,” Joe warns.

“I did. That’s how I know.”

“That is just wrong,” I mutter, tugging my shirt over my head and tossing it on the headrest of the chair.

“On so many levels,” Ben agrees.

“What color do you want it?”

Eyes the
color of a moonlit sea haunt me. “Dark blue,” I say firmly, ignoring Ben’s curse.

“Do you need to leave?” Joe asks him, one dark eyebrow lifted. “Because he doesn’t need to be agitated while I’m doing this and if you’re going to continue to aggravate him, I want you to go wait in the other room.”

Scowl on his face, Ben says, “I’ll behave. I guess.”

“You guess,” Joe scoffs, turning to me.
“You. Chair.”

One hour later, I’m staring at the reddened, stinging flesh above my heart, the fresh tattoo acting as a bandage against the sliced up vessel beneath it.

“Happy?” Ben asks as Joe swipes antibiotic ointment on the newly inked flesh and tapes gauze over it. He’s still a little pale from watching his brother work.

“Ecstatic,” I say dryly, gingerly tugging my shirt back on. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” I motion to the room and my chest.

Ben swallows hard. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe because you had your head turned the other way for most of the tattooing?” Joe asks as he rubs the chair down. He looks up at his glaring brother and shrugs. “It’s true.”

I slap Ben on the back. “Could be you’d be better at sticking to the designing part of the tattoo business.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, looking dejected.

We walk into the open area of the place. Joe’s next appointment—a blue-haired guy with a spiked collar on—patiently waits in a chair by the door.

Ben turns to me. “I’m wondering…why would you do that? Tattoo yourself with a reminder of someone who broke your heart?” He eyes me curiously.

“Because it’s also a reminder of when things were good in my life, and I don’t want to forget that time. I don’t want to forget her.” Because if I lose that—if I forget Lily, I lose all of me as well.

“Hey. You know the other night?
At the bar? I’m sorry, dude.”

I stiffen.
“About what?”

“About showing up with your ex-girlfriend and Garrett.
I didn’t know they were coming when Mia said she wanted us to go.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I’m glad you and Mia are happy. Good for you.”

Ben grabs my arm when I start to leave. “I know this is hard for you. And if it makes you feel any better, there is nothing going on with Lily and Garrett. They’re friends. That’s it.”

“It doesn’t.” I shrug his grip off.

“What?”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

I pay Joe and leave, the stinging flesh of my skin at odds with the visual beauty of the flower now tattooed forever above my heart, where Lily will always stay, whether I want her to or not.

The door flings open and I turn, quickly tugging a blue shirt over my head. Blinking, it takes a minute for it to register that it is Ana standing in the doorway to my bedroom.

“Nice ink. When did you get that?” she says, crossing her arms. Wearing a flaming red sundress and purple sandals, Ana has her blond hair partially up and looks younger than her twenty-two years—innocent even. “Is it a lily?” Tawny eyebrows lift.

“I don’t know.
A week ago. What are you doing here?”

Crossing the floor, Ana says, “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

“Depends on the friend. And why she is here.”

“It’s July twenty-fifth.” She stops beside my dresser and fiddles with the folder that holds my music.

“So?” I watch her, ready to grab the folder from her the instant she tries to open it.

“It’s your birthday. You’re nineteen.
Happy Birthday. Did that breakup mess with your head?”

“I have stuff to do, Ana. I don’t have time for whatever game you’re playing.”

Just like that, the room turns icy. “I don’t…play games.” Ana hisses, her hands fisting.

“What just happened?” I am beyond confused.

Blowing out a noisy breath, Ana shows me her back. “Nothing. Just…I don’t like games and I don’t play them.”

“Okay,” comes out slow.

Ana glances at me over her shoulder, turning to face me. “You ever do something you wish you could take back?”

“Of course.
All the time. Everyone does.” I sit on the edge of my bed.

“Like getting that tattoo?”

I glare at her.

Rubbing her arms with her hands, Ana paces the room. “I drank a lot during school and college. Way more than now,” she adds at my look. “I…” She sucks in a breath. “I did things I’m not proud of. Some things I can’t even remember.
Anyway. That’s why I am the way I am. And why I don’t play games.”

“That was kind of a vague explanation.”

“I was raped. By more than one guy,” she blurts out. I go cold and still, barely breathing. “There was a party. I was in college, drunk. They took turns. It was…some parts I don’t remember and I’m glad I don’t, I really am. But I can’t ever forget the terror, the pain, not ever. That’s why I’m scared of guys and that’s why I live at home. I’m scared to live alone. I’m scared to date. I’m scared of almost every guy I see, except for you. You are completely nonthreatening.”

“I feel slightly offended,” I mutter.
“Or like I should be worried about my masculinity.”

“I don’t mean anything like that. You’re just…you’re a nice guy, Grayson. I mean, sure, you can be a dick at times, but overall, you’re a nice guy.”

“This isn’t making me feel any better.”

Ana sighs, smiling as she sits beside me on the bed. She takes my hand and threads her fingers through mine. “You’re my friend. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

I unthread my fingers from hers and put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her to my side. Our heads touch and I take a deep breath, her words churning through my head and heart. “I’m so sorry, Ana, for what you went through.”

“Don’t be. I don’t want your pity. I just want your friendship.”

“You got it.”

“And I want you to not mope around on this day, the coolest of all days.
Your birthday. Want to get some pizza?”

“Sure.”

Ana stands, pulling me to my feet. She starts for the door. “And I want you to go to California. Not to college. To sing.”

I sigh. “Ana—“

“I wish you could see how you are when you sing, Grayson. How others respond. It’s…magical.”

Grabbing my glasses from the dresser, I put them on, confessing, “I never tried to get accepted back into the California school.”

“So
go
. Go sing. At least try. You’ll always wonder if you don’t. I know this, Grayson. I’m experienced like that.” Ana’s full lips curve up and she flounces from the room.

We eat pizza and watch movies with Aidan, but he remains stoic and grumpy the duration of the night and I know it’s because he wishes Lily was with us instead of Ana. I do too, honestly, but that doesn’t change what is. My dad hangs out with us for a while, handing me another check before going to play cards with some friends—this one only for
a hundred bucks. I pocket it, disappointed that my gifts always amount to thoughtless dollar signs.

My mom makes a brief, a
wkward appearance to wish me a Happy Birthday before disappearing. I sense Ana’s curiosity about the strain between my parents and I, but that is one thing I will not divulge to anyone other than Lily. Or I used to. But even then, I didn’t say much on the subject. She just kind of
knew
.

Ana leaves around seven at night and when she drives off, I glance up to see Lily watching me from her bedroom window. I stare up at her, struggling to breathe, missing her so much. But she turns away and the room darkens. I go inside my own house, bereft.

“I don’t like her.”

I glance to where my brother sits on the couch. “Yes, you do. You just like Lily better.”

He scowls at the television screen. “Lily should be here. She should be here on your birthday.”

Unable to deny the truth of that, I sigh as I fall onto the couch beside Aidan.
“Yeah.”

“I know you broke up and that’s why she’s not around lately.”

My eyes shoot to him.

“But you’re miserable. And she’s miserable—“

I sit up. “How do you know she’s miserable?”

“We still talk, Grayson,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Of course you do. Should have known that.” I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the couch.

“She misses you. Lily’s smiles are sad and she doesn’t laugh as much.”

Opening my eyes, I turn my head toward Aidan. “Don’t want to know this.”

Heaving a long sigh, Aidan gets to his feet, saying,
“Fine. But she wanted me to give you something.”

“
Really
don’t want to know this.”

Aidan digs into the back pocket of his jeans and I groan. Will the Dove sayings never
end
? And how many of those things has she eaten to find the right quote to send me? There is not one, but five of them that he hands to me. They are warm and crumpled more than they normally should be from being crammed in his pocket for who knows how long.

‘Give yourself permission.’

‘Live in the present.’

‘Smile.’

‘Get out there and make your dreams happen.’

‘Discover yourself.’

I stare at them splayed out on my legs, anger and gratefulness colliding inside me. Why does she keep doing this? A clean break would be best, for both of us. This is madness, keeping this connection between us, keeping us thinly tethered together—it isn’t helping either one of us. But we have been friends far longer than we were lovers, and even now, after all that has happened to bring us together only to tear us apart again, I am so thankful for her and even for these silly little chocolate wrappers, far more than I am angry about the circumstances keeping us from being with one another. I also know, it doesn’t really matter what is or isn’t done, because there is no getting over Lily, not for me.

“Happy Birthday, Grayson,” Aidan tells me.

“Thanks.” I know that he is gone even though I cannot seem to force my eyes away from the quotes staring back at me.

***

Bolting upright in bed, the fog of sleep instantly lifts at the sound of their raised voices. I blink, shoving my glasses on my face. The skin above my heart feels tight and itchy; a good sign the tattoo is healing over. The clock says it is almost eleven at night. I sigh, sitting hunched over for a minute, hoping the argument is almost over. When a door slams and then slams again, it is apparent it is not.

The sounds get louder, closer, and I hurl myself from the bed, so furious I can taste it in the dryness of my mouth. Nothing has changed. It was stupid of me to think maybe some good would come out of the night my mom drank so much she passed out in the hallway. And my dad—I heard him crying afterward, long into the night. I should know better than to hope for the impossible by now. Didn’t I learn my lesson with Lily?

“Don’t you walk away from me, Jeffrey!”

“You need help.”

My mom laughs bitterly, sending a chill through me. “And you don’t?”

That’s the thing about alcohol—it makes you unpredictable. It’s hard to determine what side of Tracie Lee will be shown from day to day when she is drinking. Apparently tonight it is the hostile side. I stare at the closed door, envisioning their stances, their expressions, the hate they feel for one another hot and thick.

“I’m serious, Tracie. You can’t keep doing this.
I
can’t keep doing this.” My father’s voice is defeated.

“Doing what? It’s not like we have any kind of a relationship anyway. So what do you care what I do or don’t? Just go away, like you always do. You’re never here.”

“Why? Because I work? Because I try to support this family? Because I try to be both parents?”

“
You’re never here!
What do you know about being a
parent
?”

“More…than…you.”

My head falls back and I gaze up at a black ceiling, my hands fisting at my sides.
Need out, need out, need out
plays through my head. Helplessness, thick and suffocating, descends on me. I yank the door open and there they are, both of them glancing my way. The glow of the hallway light shows the haggard, tired looks of them. This life is killing them too. We are all being ravaged by it.

“Is there a reason why you’re having this conversation, right now, right here?” My eyes sweep over the hallway toward Aidan’s closed bedroom door. He has to be awake. No one could sleep through this, no matter how much they wanted to.

“We didn’t…we didn’t think,” my mom says in a faltering voice. For once it isn’t slurring. Her eyes are large and sad and she doesn’t look at me directly, like it hurts her to. A pale purple nightgown hangs on her slim frame, her bones too prominent. I wonder if she really eats at all anymore.

My dad sighs, swiping a hand through his mussed hair. “I’m going to bed. I have to work in the morning.”

“Of course you are. Of course you do,” she snaps at him.

“One of us has to.”

He starts to walk away and my mom goes after him. “So that’s it? You said your piece and it’s over?”

Pausing on the steps, he replies, “It should have been over a long time ago.”

I grind my teeth together, the urge to lash out too strong to ignore. “What do you two think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?” my mom asks, turning to face me.

“Grayson, go back to bed.”

“No, honestly, I’d really like to know. Did you take parental classes on how to fuck your kids’ lives up or what?”

“Grayson, that’s enough,” my dad commands, but he doesn’t leave the stairway. His focus is on escape.

As he takes a step down, I propel myself forward, grabbing his arm and halting him. “We’re not done.” Our eyes meet, his a mix between fury and resignation. It’s an odd expression.

“You don’t grab me.” His tone is cold yet weary. Again—strange mixture. The man is clearly conflicted.

“I want you both to listen to what I have to say.” I release his arm.

“Right now?” His eyebrows lift.

“Why not?
It’s not like you were waiting for a more convenient time to put each other down anyway. Might as well get it all out in the open now.”

He nods brusquely, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on. Say what you need to say.”

A glance at my mom shows I have her attention as well. I take a deep breath, my pulse racing. This is it. It is now or never. “I’m leaving soon. You know that.”

“Yes. California. Despite what you may think, we do know what’s going
on in your life,” my father says.

I snort.
“Really? You think so? You have no
clue
what’s going on in my life. You never have.”

“Grayson, it’s late. Can we have this talk tomorrow?” My mom has backtracked a few feet, closer to her bedroom, closer to her alcohol she keeps hidden in the last drawer of her dresser.

“No. We’re having it now,” I reply coldly.

Inhaling slowly, I begin. “You’re not abusive; you’ve never hit us or put us down, not directly. So for that I’m thankful. But you’ve both been so completely indifferent to your sons, so—so…self-centered, so focused on
you
, that you’ve neglected us in that way. I’m telling you now, before I go: You either work your shit out or you get a divorce.” My eyes pin them both immobile. “Because you’re not dragging Aidan through seven more years of this bullshit. You’re not doing to him what you did to me. I’ve been his parent more than either of you have been and that’s really sad.”